The Trouble With Harry
by SeenaC
Summary: John wants to help his sister in any way he can as she begins her recovery.  As a former substance abuser, Sherlock is also sympathetic, but his ideas of "help" might be a bit unorthodox.  ON HIATUS:  please see my profile for info.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I wanted to write a story dealing with Harry beginning her long road to recovery. The POV is still John, though. The title is an homage to the wonderfully twisted comedy by Alfred Hitchcock, but in no way resembles it. Action begins the morning after "Shake the Disease" ends. As always, any and all feedback is cherished!

**Warnings:** Established John/Sherlock, references to drug and alcohol abuse. Bad language. If anything else comes up, I'll post a warning on the chapter in which it happens.

**Disclaimer:** No profits. Done for love.

The Trouble with Harry - 1

I woke up to find that Sherlock was still curled around me, in close to the same position as he'd been when I'd fallen asleep the night before. I smiled. He must have slept well.

I was a bit worried, however. I needed to go back to work today, something I hadn't done since his episode with the heroin. He had promised not to take any more drugs, but I couldn't help but be concerned on leaving him alone for the first time. We still hadn't really dealt with the issue, we'd been too busy navigating the waters of our relationship.

I tightened my arms around him slightly, feeling both a wave of affection and wonder. I still found it hard to believe that this incredible creature had allowed me to get inside of him, both literally and figuratively.

Why me? After a lifetime of seemingly contented solitude? Why me, when he could probably have anyone he desired?

I bent my neck down and kissed the top of his head. He yawned and stretched lazily, then blinked up at me. As his eyes cleared of sleep, he began to frown.

"You're leaving."

"I have to go back to work, Sherlock."

He sighed and rolled over.

"It's probably just as well, anyway."

"Why's that?"

"Mycroft might be coming over."

"Oh really? Why?"

"Mum."

"Oh," I said. I really wasn't sure what to say. After a pause I said, "Well, tell him hello for me, that is, if he isn't still cross with me about Margaret."

I got out of the bed and began getting my clothes together for work. Knowing that Mycroft might be coming was a bit motivating, as I was certain that if he came over he would somehow instantly know that I'd shagged his brother yesterday.

"How are you feeling today?" I asked, fervently hoping that Sherlock at least wouldn't have a suspicious limp to confirm Mycroft's suspicions.

"I am fine, please stop fussing," grumbled Sherlock.

"All right, all right, I just wanted to be sure is all."

I hurried to the bathroom and by the time I came out Sherlock was out of the bedroom in his dressing gown. He was no longer limping or making strange faces when he moved, so I left for work with my worries greatly eased.

I texted Sherlock several times from the surgery that day to ensure that he knew I was thinking of him. It certainly wasn't any more than when he would often text me, but he still deduced my intent after the fourth text I sent.

_In answer to your unspoken question - no, I am not injecting heroin into my veins. - SH_

I came home to the sound of Sherlock's Stradivarius. He was playing one of his raucous, improvised compositions. They tended to make appearances when Sherlock was nervous or upset about something.

He immediately stopped playing when I came in the sitting room, however, and waved his bow at me by way of greeting.

"Hey," I said, "how was your day? Did Mycroft come over?"

"No," he responded, looking a little perturbed, "and he didn't call either."

"Maybe there was some sort of crisis, couldn't get away from work."

"He could have texted me."

That night Sherlock didn't come to bed until after I had fallen asleep. I could hear him out in the sitting room rustling through his mother's file. It made my heart ache a little bit, knowing that there was an area of hurt there that I really couldn't help him with.

Sometime in the middle of the night I half-awoke as Sherlock slipped into bed and wrapped himself around me. I never expected him to be so cuddly in bed, after a lifetime of sleeping alone. However, after thinking about it I realize that he had no real physical affection of any kind since his mother had died. With Mycroft away at uni and his father busy drinking himself to death, Sherlock had probably not been held by anyone since he was a child.

The next several days went by in much the same way. I got back into my usual work routine and Sherlock re-immersed himself into his mother's case. However, Mycroft continued to be absent. Sherlock grumbled that the most he could get out of his brother was that Mycroft still felt it was too soon to take additional action and that he was far too busy anyhow.

I could see that Sherlock was getting increasingly agitated over the situation, but was at somewhat of a loss as to what I could do about it. I attempted to distract him as much as possible, and hoped that Lestrade might come through with an interesting case for him.

I also tried to be extra affectionate, but was met with varying success in that area. We cuddled a lot in bed, but Sherlock generally didn't respond to anything physical out of the bedroom. We also did not engage in anything overtly sexual. Sherlock didn't make any new overtures in that area, and I was still a bit leery of making any. I was still concerned about making him think that he owed me sexual favors now that we were in a relationship.

I found myself surprisingly ok with the situation. I discovered that it didn't really matter that much to me whether Sherlock and I had sex or not, as long as I was sure of his affections. And, so much as he had them, I knew that they were all mine. My happiness would have been complete if only I could have eased Sherlock's mind about his mother's case, but I knew that was outside my power.

Almost before I knew it, enough days had passed that I got a phone call from Harry. She had successfully completed her first two weeks of rehab, and she wanted me to come for a visit the next day.

"Congratulations, Harry! Of course I'll come."

"Thanks, John. Will you be bringing Sherlock?"

"Um, I don't know what his schedule is. Do you want me to bring him?"

"I'd like to see him, if he could come."

"All right then, I'll ask him, but I'll be there for sure."

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow, then. And John?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Harry."

I hung up the phone feeling a little strange. I don't think we'd ever actually said that to each other before.

I asked Sherlock about coming. He was surprised, but agreed to come with me on my visit the next day.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**Apologies for the slow updates on this story. I want to alert all readers about a new illustration on Khorazir's tumblr account taken from the final chapter of "Shake the Disease." As always, it is simply stunning.

**Beta: **Jarry Scythe - everybody think happy thoughts for her as she enters finals week!

The Trouble with Harry - 2

I arrived at Harry's clinic the next evening feeling a bit nervous. As I had told Sherlock after first meeting him, Harry and I had never got on growing up. Once we had grown up Harry had already become a heavy drinker. She improved for a time during her relationship with Clara and we started to become close.

All that was destroyed in the wreckage of their relationship. I had really liked Clara, and Harry had degenerated into a manipulative, abusive partner who clearly didn't deserve a loving mate like Clara. Sadly, Clara was the last person to realize this, and Harry had driven her away broken-hearted. I had never really forgiven my sister for that.

The phone from which Sherlock had deduced many of his initial details about me was something I had originally wanted to fling back in Harry's face when she offered it to me. But, the loving inscription from Clara stopped me. Well that, and I was really desperate for a phone at the time.

We had very little contact with each other after that. I generally ignored her posts to my blog. The short, disastrous meet-up between Harry, Sherlock, and me had been the most contact I had with her since shortly after my return from Afghanistan.

I really did not know what to expect from this visit. I tried not to get my hopes high. I'd been manipulated by her for years. It was part of what made up my decision to become an army doctor - it seemed safer than spending time with my sister. However, she had never admitted that her drinking was a problem before. And she'd certainly never gone to rehab.

It certainly seemed to be a nice facility, more like a hotel than a hospital. We were shown into a small sitting room and advised that Harry would join us shortly.

In just a few minutes there was a knock on the door, followed immediately by Harry herself. She burst in with her typical energy and enthusiasm, pulling me into a tight hug.

"John, it's so good to see you. I'm so glad you came."

She turned her head toward Sherlock, still holding me, "you too, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded his head and gave her a tentative smile.

In typical Harry-fashion she launched into a record of what she'd been doing the past few weeks: drying out, seeing doctors, meeting with therapists, participating in group therapy sessions, and so on. As she spoke I looked her over carefully. She looked better than when I'd seen her last. Her eyes were bright and her skin had lost its sallow look. Her hair still looked dull and brittle, but that would take more time to recover.

"So anyway," Harry was saying as she wrapped up her story, "now that I've successfully completed my first two weeks I can have visitors until I finish my 30 days."

"What happens then?" I asked.

"I'm to go to a group home for the next 60 days. I'll return to work, but I'll be living under supervision in my off hours and attending daily sessions with the other occupants of the home."

I saw Sherlock flinch, Harry saw it as well.

"It's alright," Harry said to us reassuringly, "I'll be glad of the help and support. I'm not looking forward to sharing my bedroom with a bunch of strangers, but I've made my commitment and I'm going to stick with it."

"I'm...I'm really proud of you, Harry," I said, "this has been a big change for you. You've shown a lot of courage."

Harry shook her head, "Please, John, don't. I can't bear it. I've been such a burden to you for so long..."

"Harry..."

"No! Let me do this, please John," Harry stopped and gulped.

After a deep breath she continued, "Part of my recovery is that I need to apologize to those I have wronged and where possible, make amends. I know...I know that there are certain things I can never fix...without a time machine, anyway. But, I wanted to start with you and Sherlock."

Sherlock and I exchanged a glance, he was looking slightly alarmed. My protective instincts kicked in.

"Harry, you don't have to..."

"YES! I DO, John. I do have to. It's important to me to admit my crimes." She turned to Sherlock, who was now looking like he was close to doing a runner.

"Sherlock, I was incredibly rude and hurtful to you at our first meeting. Your virginity is your own business I had no right to make comments about your sexual history, or lack thereof. I have no expectations of being forgiven, but I do want you know that I truly regret my behavior and that it is my goal from this time forward to treat you with the respect my brother's partner deserves."

Sherlock goggled at her, seemingly unable to speak.

"Will you shake hands with me?" Harry asked, hesitantly extending her hand.

"Of course," Sherlock managed to croak, and then they solemnly shook hands as if it were a state occasion.

If I hadn't been so mortified myself, I would have thoroughly enjoyed seeing Sherlock so completely rattled. It was something I would probably never see again.

"Now, if it's ok with you, Sherlock, I'd like to have a few words with my brother, er, alone."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said and was out the door in a flash.

"Harry," I began, "er, when you were told that making apologies was important to your recovery..."

"Yes?" she asked anxiously.

"Erm, did they explain that when apologizing for saying rude and hurtful things...that you probably shouldn't _repeat_ the rude and hurtful things that were said in the first place?"

Harry's expression went from puzzlement, to anxiety, to horror.

"Oh no! You're saying I've made it worse!" She started for the door as if to go after him.

"No, no Harry, it's ok. Sherlock will be fine. I'm just...letting you know for future reference."

"John, I'm so sorry. I'm just trying to make sure I own up to everything, trying to show that I truly regret what I've done. Honestly, I've never done this before. All my apologies before were aimed at getting people back on my side, so I could get them to do what I wanted, not because I was really sorry."

"I know, Harry. I watched you do it for years."

"I really wanted things to be different now. And all I did was hurt your boyfriend all over again."

Tears began to spill from her eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, I didn't suspect her of acting.

This time, I hugged her.

"Harry, it'll be ok. Sherlock will be fine, I promise."

"But, what if I can't do this? I'm trying so hard and on my first apology I muck it all up. Maybe I'm a more horrible person sober than I am as a drunk!"

"No Harry, I believe in you. You CAN do this. It just takes time. It will be hard work, but I know you can do it. As long as you are willing to make the effort, I will be there for you, every step of the way, I promise."

"Really?"

Harry gave me a hesitant, watery smile.

"Really," I said firmly.

"I don't even know how to begin to apologize to you, John. It'll take me years."

We talked for just a little bit longer, but we both were aware that Sherlock was outside somewhere waiting so it wasn't long before we were saying goodbye. I promised to visit her every day for the rest of her in-patient treatment.

We hugged goodbye, and I found Sherlock in the waiting room just inside the main entrance. We rode back to the flat in an awkward silence.

Once we were in the sitting room, I felt I had to say something.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry Harry embarrassed you like that."

Sherlock waved his hands dismissively, "You don't have to apologize for your sister. When was the last time I apologized for Mycroft?"

"Well, still. You looked really uncomfortable."

"She just surprised me is all."

"Yes, well, she surprised me too."

We gave each other a sidelong look, and then both burst out laughing. We dropped on the couch and gradually subsided into quiet giggles.

"Seriously, though," Sherlock finally said, "I admire your sister for doing what she's doing. I'm sure it isn't easy, after so many years."

"No...it won't be. I promised that I'd do whatever I could to help."

Sherlock looked over at me and smiled, "She's lucky," he paused, then took my hand, "I'm lucky."

I didn't know what to say, but I squeezed his hand in return and smiled.

To be continued...


End file.
